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The Truth

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Maybe some siblings would have a

rivalry or an expectation that the
older sibling would get married first.
But that’s never been the way Ace
and I have operated. We help each
other and support each other to the
point of calling each other on our shit
when the situation warrants it.
And let’s be real, I don’t have any
real prospects, so walking down the
aisle is not something I’ll be doing
any time soon.
Under the table, as if he can sense
my thoughts, Kevin licks my leg, and
I look down at him. “Aw, thanks,
mush face. I love you too, but
human-dog marriages aren’t
allowed,” I tell him in a sweet, high-
pitched, baby-talk voice. “At least
not in this state.”
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Ace grabs his dog, covering his long,

floppy ears. “That’s disgusting, Tiff.
He’s your dog-nephew.”
I roll my eyes and huff. “I wasn’t
serious, asshole.”
“Are you dating anyone?” Ace asks
hesitantly, letting go of his hold on
Kevin’s ears to scratch under his
whiskered chin.
“No. I’ve been busy, and I haven’t
found anyone who meets my
requirements.” I check off invisible
items on an imaginary list in the air.
“Tall, check. Handsome, check.
Established, check. Intelligent,
check. Eight-inch-plus dick that’ll go
all night, check.”
“You forgot bank account balance,
corporate position, and most
importantly, his name,” Ace whispers
knowingly. “Because we both know
who you’re talking about. The oh, so
sexy He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.”
Yeah, I’ve got one of those no-name
people too, but it’s for an entirely
different reason.
I glare at Ace because he’s gone too
far. He damn well knows that there
is only one man on my to-do list,
and he is unattainable in a myriad of
ways we won’t even begin to
discuss.
“Don’t make me avada kedavra
you,” I threaten as I swish and flick
a double dose of my red-painted
middle fingers through the air,
ending with a solid fuck you. A very
Muggle magic wand, but it definitely
works.
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He grins as he brags, “At least I’ll die

remembering the warmth of a good
orgasm with another person.”
I huff in annoyance because he’s
right, which means he wins this
round. I haven’t had a non-self-
induced orgasm in so long I’ve
forgotten what they feel like. Hell,
I’m beginning to think they don’t
actually exist and were simply a
figment of my admittedly skilled
imagination.
Completely oblivious to our sibling
jests, Harper comes back to the
dining table, leaning into Ace’s side.
Her arm wraps around his shoulders
and his arm goes to her waist. “Hey,
baby, dishes are done. You want to
take Kev out for a walk?”
“Then dessert?” Ace asks, his hand
dipping down to cup her ass, and
Harper blushes. Their connection is
palpable, and I suddenly feel as
though I’m intruding on a private
moment between them, third-wheel
style.
“I think I’m going to head out, guys.
Ace seems to have some plans for
you that should not involve putting
your face in those couch cushions,” I
tell Harper with a crinkle of my face.
“Dessert. Ugh.”
Harper gawks and pushes on Ace’s
shoulder, as if it’s not obvious what
we’re talking about. “Ace! What did
you tell her?” To me, she says, “He’s
talking out of his tooshie, whatever
he was saying. I was just going to
ask if you wanted another glass of
adult juice.”
Her usage of random kid lingo is one
of the things that always makes me
smile. She’ll pop off with things like
‘luncheteria’ and ‘wear-unders’ that I
have to stop and translate into
grown-up language.
She points over her shoulder to the
bottle on the spotless kitchen
counter, giving credence to her
claim, and I’m touched. Harper is
many things—sweet, patient, and as
bubbly as you would expect a
kindergarten teacher to be, which is
appropriate considering that’s
exactly what she is. She is also a
miracle worker, magically getting
people, both big and little, to fall in
line, and I’m no different. So usually,
I’d politely accept another glass, but
I think I should pass this time or Ace
might start things with Harper while
I’m still here.
“Thank you, really. But I need to call
it done at one because I’m driving,
and Cammie tends to go faster than
she should if I’m not paying close
attention.”
Cammie is the Camaro I inherited
from Elle on a ‘long-term borrow’, a
gearhead’s wet dream of an
automotive beast that has more
horsepower than anything I’d ever
typically drive. Cammie’s one high-
strung rock star bitch who wants to
live fast and die in a blaze of glory to
go on to rock ‘n’ roll heaven. It’s the
driver’s responsibility to hold her
back, something I do better than Elle
ever did.
Harper leaves Ace’s side to give me
a hug as I stand and head toward
the door. “Thank you for coming
over!” Her voice is full of excitement,
like my mere presence was an actual
gift. “You always make it fun!”